


somebody to love (and more of that jazz)

by friarlucas



Series: girl meets world band au [2]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, Pining, also hello i LOVE dave williams, and oh how we love pining, especially of the musical variety, essentially people know stuff, yes but they don't know that they know that we know that they know we know they know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friarlucas/pseuds/friarlucas
Summary: Following the release of "Game Night," the concept of Lucas Friar's romantic mystery muse has taken the media by storm. Everyone is dying to know the identity of this girl who is purportedly impossible not to love -- that is, except for those who already have it well figured out.AKA, four people who know the identity of the mystery muse and one very particular person who does not.





	somebody to love (and more of that jazz)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Ficmas, Day 6! This is an idea I came up with earlier this semester and I wanted to share before posting the follow-up in which Riley & Lucas finally have their heart-to-heart (coming in just a couple days! Hallelujah!), and I'm really happy with how it turned out. So enjoy, empathize, and let us continue on with another day of Ficmas cheer. :)

Zay knows the identity of the mystery muse before there’s even a mystery muse to know.

In fairness to the rest of the world, he figures the only reason he caught on so quickly is due to how well he knows his best friend. He’s known him since they were children, so he’s spent enough time with him during enough of their awkward adolescent years to recognize the way he acts around people of interest when he sees it. That is to say, in all the time he’s been his friend, Lucas catching feelings is a rare occurrence and it stands out to him when his behavior and demeanor suddenly totally change.

It only happened a couple of times in their secondary educational career, but he likes to think he’s identified all the telltale signs. If Lucas really has interest in someone, there are three key indicators Zay checks for like checking the flashing lights on a car dashboard.

First, Lucas usually stops breathing. He doesn’t know if his best friend is perpetually on the verge of suffocating himself or what—he knows he’s sort of shy, but good grief—but when he sees someone who truly catches his attention there’s a definitive moment where he can’t breathe. It looks as though he’s been kicked in the gut, and although the moment is often brief enough not to warrant the concern of passersby both times Zay wondered if he should get his friend medical attention before connecting the dots and realizing what’s causing the asphyxia.

Then, there’s the eyes. Zay has always found his best friend’s face to be quite expressive, but nothing beats his eyes. Sure, they’re nice and green and pretty like all the tabloids have latched onto, but what Zay likes about them is that they reveal everything about him even when words won’t. Perhaps it’s because he’s known him so long, but one look into Lucas’s sad cow eyes can tell him everything about a situation he needs to know before he even opens his mouth.

Lucas finds this commentary obnoxious and claims it’s not true, but Zay begs to differ and besides, it’s not like he would admit it if it were. No, this is the kind of intel Zay gets to know simply by virtue of being his best friend and getting years of observation prior to their entrance into the public eye.

In regards to the attraction indicator, what’s telling about his eyes is how wide they become. Zay doesn’t know how else to describe it other than his best friend stares, and the expression that takes over his face sort of looks like he’s staring right into the center of the universe—which, admittedly, sounds exactly like the sort of romantic bullshit he would write into a breathtaking lyric that would bop them right to the top of the charts.

The third key and true testament to how interested in Lucas is in a potential partner is whether or not he makes the move to introduce himself. Seemingly harmless enough, but the fact of the matter is his best friend _is_ rather shy, and if he conjures up the gusto to go and exchange greetings with a girl then Zay knows he’s smitten. Usually he has to drag his humble pal up to important people and get the conversation going for him, so the moments when Lucas makes an introduction of his own volition are notable.

Sometimes, it never goes further than that. Lucas never expects anything from those opening conversations, but the act of making himself known to the object of his interest is the first step and the true litmus test to whether or not his best friend _like_ likes someone or not. Has been since they were kids, and it’s remained unfailingly the same regardless of how time or fame shifts around them.

That’s why when they meet Riley Matthews, he knows what’s coming around the bend before his best friend even realizes it himself.

It’s one of the later days in the studio following their release of _Semi-Formal_ , and spirits are high. The record is doing better than anticipated, and already talks are ongoing about how to market and angle their second album. To Zay, having the opportunity to do a second album at all is good enough, so he’s far from down in the dumps.

This afternoon they’re slated to formally meet the new female singer the record label just signed in an effort to welcome her into the industry. Quincy Records has a very specific energy, and one of their major focuses has always been creating as comfortable and friendly an atmosphere as possible. It’s the best way to encourage dynamite work from their artists, according to their head executive Turner, so it’s common courtesy for the already signed acts to be present and offer new performers a warm Quincy welcome to whoever joins the label next.

Zay is more than happy to help give this new artist some confidence and ease her transition into the industry, but as far as he can tell she’s got enough confidence to last her a lifetime. Maya Hart is a bombshell from the moment she walks into the studio, disrupting their rehearsal with a boisterous greeting and a winning smile with such high wattage he’s honestly surprised he doesn’t go blind.

“The wait is over, boys,” she says cheekily, holding out her arms as if she’s offering the entire world before them. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Immediately, all of them drop what they’re doing and head over to greet Maya and her entourage. Although her posse is a party of one, and her reserved brunette friend seems like she could use the warm welcome far more than her.

“Maya Hart,” Farkle says with interest, taking the hand she offers and shaking it. “The newest blood in the Quincy Record melting pot.”

Maya narrows her eyes playfully. “You must be Farkle Minkus. Yeah, you and I have lots to talk about I’m sure. I bet your take on the industry is just fascinating.” She shifts her gaze to Zay, smile widening and eyes lighting up. “And Zay Babineaux! You, good sir, have some killer pipes. I’m pretty sure your range is higher than mine.”

“Just takes practice,” he says cheerfully, offering a grin in return. “Don’t worry, I’ll whip you into shape.”

“I hope that’s a promise!”

As Maya moves on to greet Charlie, Zay takes a moment to take stock on the rest of the band. Dave is still struggling to make his way over, tangled up in amp wires and tripping over himself as he’s wont to do. Searching for Lucas, he glances over his shoulder towards the drum kit and finds his best friend somewhat frozen in the process of coming to join them.

He’s not breathing. His eyes are wide, but he’s not looking at Maya.

Following his gaze, Zay turns back to find Maya’s quiet friend hovering in front of him as she half-listens to Maya’s conversation with Charlie and Farkle. Obviously feeling a bit out of sorts, not sure whether she belongs in this moment or not.

Zay recognizes the trepidation. He’s familiar with it because he saw it in Lucas the majority of their first few months in the industry, when he was there more as Zay’s emotional support than a serious member of the band. Back before their band even was a band, when it was just the two of them and the lyrics that are now sung by thousands of fans every day were just scribbled notes in the back of Lucas’s composition books.

He’s waiting to see if his friend is going to check the third and final box and zoom over to introduce himself, but in the time it takes for him to decide, Zay chooses to throw this poor girl a life preserver.

“Are you a singer too?”

The brunette jumps, a bit surprised at being addressed. She chuckles, shaking her head and turning her pretty smile on him. “Oh, no. I’m just the best friend. Here to help my talented girl shine like the star she is.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Zay says, crossing his arms. “Got one of those myself, actually.”

As if on cue, Lucas appears beside him. He’s still got that breathless quality to his expression, and from the way he’s looking at her Zay has to wonder if their new guest isn’t actually the sun in disguise. No matter how much of a star Maya seems to be, in the eyes of his best friend nothing can outshine the pretty brunette in this moment.

Of course, all of this is subtle enough only the trained eye of a close friend could catch it. But boy, is he catching it loud and clear.

“Hi,” Lucas says, capturing her attention and holding out a hand. “I’m Lucas.”

She’s immediately shyer than before, a nervous giggle escaping her as she takes his hand to shake it. “I know who you are. Your lyrics are amazing. Seriously, I have no idea how you come up with some of that stuff. I feel like I listen to them so often they’re burned into my brain.”

Zay raises his eyebrows, unable to keep the amused smirk off his face. Although he has to admit, it’s nice to hear someone praise his friend for the hard work he puts into their music. He feels like Lucas is often the overlooked member of their little group, second only to Dave who most people forget about entirely since Charlie spends so much time playing over him.

She blinks, horror coloring her features at her candid outburst. She clears her throat, retracting her hand and wringing her fingers together. “Sorry, that was weird. I only meant that—I ramble a lot. I don’t know what comes out of my mouth half the time. That’s why she’s the superstar, not me.”

“It’s all good,” Lucas assures her, offering a soft smile. “I don’t mind.”

An introduction _and_ a smile. Now, Zay has to think, we’re getting somewhere.

The girl lets out a relieved sigh, brushing some hair out of her face and returning the smile. “I’m Riley, by the way. Now that I’ve properly embarrassed myself.”

“Has anyone shown you around yet?” Lucas asks, glancing towards Maya before letting his focus shift back to her. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen parts of the studio, but as far as this one—,”

“That would be great,” she says gratefully, keeping her hands clasped together in front of her as Lucas gestures her past him to get a better look at their set-up. He falls into step with her, giving her the full insider look at the world of Mad Dogs and the place where the magic happens.

Zay observes them for a moment longer, getting the sense that this blossoming relationship isn’t going to be like any of the others. He doesn’t know what tells him so, but watching the two of them interact for the rest of the afternoon and well into their growing friendship afterwards lets him know that whatever happens, Lucas Friar and Riley Matthews are going to be something worth watching.

He can’t wait to see what happens next.

* * *

Farkle Minkus not only knows who the mystery muse is, he likes to think he had a hand in her creation, thank you very much.

Not the feelings, obviously—if he could have it his way, he thinks their whole job would be much easier if those could be removed fully—but the conceit of the muse and her mythology. Because the mystery muse wouldn’t exist without all the beautiful, sappy songs that built her into the legend she is amongst the fan circles, and the songs wouldn’t exist without his very unique brand of encouragement.

Before he stepped in, after all, it was looking like Mad Dogs weren’t going to make much music at all following their debut album.

There had already been enough internal debate about what direction the band should go in creatively, as Farkle wanted to stretch their boundaries and push for something more profound and Charlie wanted to stay safely in the land of cookie cutter pop. Zay just wanted them to stop fighting and reach a consensus, and Lucas seemed to have dried up as far as writing songs so for all intents and purposes, the band was looking as good as dead.

When Charlie comes in with a song of his own, that’s when Farkle loses his cool.

“I’m not playing this,” he states, scanning the frou-frou lyrics with a frown once more before letting the paper flutter to his feet.

Charlie scrambles to pick it up before it hits the ground, tossing Farkle an irritated scowl. “Well, who asked you to play on it anyway?”

“Um, you did. When you brought that trash in here and said that Mad Dogs should do it on our next album. You know, the band. Or do you just imagine us as Charlie and the Pips?”

“I don’t need to take this,” Charlie snaps, grabbing his guitar off the chair by the speakers and moving to put it back in its case. “All I’m doing is trying to save this ship from sinking like the Titanic, since apparently Friar can’t seem to come up with another song to get us back on track.”

Dave’s eyes widen as he distracts himself by tuning his guitar, tossing a sideways glance towards Lucas sitting at the drum kit. He doesn’t react to Charlie’s comment outright, but it’s evident to Farkle from the way he chooses not to say anything at all that the dig pokes at his insecurity more than he lets on.

They need their star lyricist to start crafting poetry again, and Charlie throwing shade at him while trying to get his own crummy tune on their set list isn’t going to do them any favors. If they’re going to get anywhere, Farkle decides he needs to remove the external factors from the equation.

“Yeah, you think you can be the hero?” Farkle fires back, impressed and somewhat miffed by how passive the rest of his bandmates can be. They’re all content to keep their heads down and let him do all the arguing while he desperately tries to keep their actually solid musical ability from shriveling up into pop drivel. But that’s a whole other issue to tackle at a later time. “Sure, go on. I’d love to be impressed. But come back when you have an actual song worth sharing and not this garbage.”

Charlie scoffs, offended. He looks to Zay, searching for an ally. “Do you hear this?”

Farkle cuts him off before Zay can respond either way. “If you’re going to run off to your manager and cry wolf, might as well do it. We all know what the tabloids have been saying. What’s that they heard about you wanting to be a solo act anyway? Maybe now’s the time to do it.”

Dave dips his head down, hiding his expression as the room grows painfully tense around them. Charlie stares down Farkle until he can’t hold his gaze any longer, letting out another huff and yanking his guitar case off the chair.

“I’m taking five,” he declares, obviously intending to be gone much longer than five minutes as he storms towards the door.

Farkle crosses his arms, shrugging. Charlie tosses one more disgusted look his way before slamming the door behind him, leaving their shattered group in uncomfortable silence.

“Maybe we should all take five,” Zay states diplomatically, raising his hands in surrender.

“Oh, thank God,” Dave exclaims, scrambling from his chair and darting out of the room. Whether he was truly that uncomfortable or maybe just really had to pee, Farkle has no idea. Dave’s younger and zanier than the rest of them, so he’s always had a bit of trouble figuring him out.

Still, he much prefers him to angelic Charlie Gardner. At least Dave can actually play the guitar.

“I’m going to get a coffee,” Zay states, shrugging on his jacket. He points to Lucas, raising his eyebrows. “You want anything?”

“I’m good, thanks,” their quiet friend says, waving him off.

Farkle watches as Zay passes by him to exit, matching his disdainful look with an unperturbed smile. He knows Zay finds his intense personality stressful, but at the end of the day what both of them can respect in the other is the amount of belief they have in the band. More than anyone else, Farkle knows that Zay sees all the potential in Mad Dogs that he does, and both of them want to reach that full potential. Zay is just less willing to bite as often as he barks, so that job falls on his shoulders.

Currently, he knows the person who needs to be a little barked at most of all. They can’t get anywhere without any new songs, so it’s up to him figure out what is causing Lucas Friar’s sudden writer’s block.

The moment Zay is down the hall and out of sight, Farkle closes the door behind him and locks the two of them in the room. If he’s going to get to the bottom of this, he’s not going to let anything get in the way.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Lucas has migrated over towards the couch tucked in the corner of the room, checking his phone. He lifts his gaze to match his, a bit surprised at Farkle’s hostile tone. “Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, country boy. And don’t turn on any of that gee willikers charm and try to sweet talk your way out of this, because it isn’t going to work on me.” He marches over and gets in close to his drummer’s face, scrutinizing him. “Why the hell haven’t you been writing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Lucas says defensively, backing away from him and collapsing into the couch in the process. “Don’t you think if I knew, I’d be doing something about it?”

“Honestly, no, I don’t. You’ve always struck me as the kind of guy who would let a problem fester until it got so bad it forced your attention. Or a medical emergency.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

Farkle has his theories about why Lucas hasn’t been able to write. It goes hand in hand with the same reason he thinks he’d let a problem get worse before it gets better, how non-confrontational he is and how he keeps his head down whenever tensions arise within the group. But he doesn’t want to just tell Lucas outright—partially because wants to see for himself if it’s correct before he shares his hypothesis, but mostly because he knows Lucas is only going to be able to break through this mental blockade if he acknowledges it himself.

Still, it doesn’t mean he can’t give hints.

“You’ve never been stuck like this before,” Farkle states, crossing his arms. “And only a few factors have changed in our little dynamic here since your writer brain suddenly just decided to take a vacation. Are we just going to ignore those details or write them off as coincidence?”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Farkle wants him to figure it out for himself, but his tolerance for playing dumb is insanely low and his patience is historically lower. “We’re really not going to discuss the fact that this has everything to do with her?”

Lucas ignores his comment. “Maybe I’m just overworked. I don’t know.”

“For you to be overworked, that would imply you’ve been doing work in the first place. Which, considering your empty slate of recent works, is a tough sell.” He decides to push the envelope a little further, hoping Lucas’s defensive tone is an indicator that he’s barking up the right tree. “When all I’m seeing is the fact that she is distracting you for whatever reason, and that’s completely ruined your ability to write even one line of decent work.”

“Look, this doesn’t have anything to do with Riley,” he snaps, all fired up on her behalf despite the fact that Farkle didn’t once utter her name in the conversation. “So would you just leave her out of it?”

Farkle shrugs. “I never brought her into it. You’re the one who assumed I was talking about her, which says a lot about the situation, doesn’t it?”

Lucas opens his mouth to argue, before he realizes he’s been caught. Farkle painted him into a corner, and now there’s no plausible way for him to deny it.

Just as he suspected, Lucas has feelings for Riley. He likes Riley Matthews, and that’s inevitably interfering with his writing one way or another.

Not that it’s particularly hard to figure out—all you have to do is see the way he looks at her. But Farkle figures that’s beside the point.

He sighs, settling down next to Lucas on the couch. “You’re not going to let a girl hinder your ability to write, are you?”

“It’s not that I can’t write,” he retorts, frustrated. Farkle gets the feeling he’s more irritated with himself than anything else. “It’s that I have so much to write there’s not enough room for all of it. But no matter how much I get out it’s just all about—,”

“Her,” Farkle fills in. “So what?”

Lucas blinks at him. “So what? What do you mean so what?”

“People write about their lovers all the time. Some of the greatest contributions to music have been love songs. Have you ever heard _Something_ by George Harrison? That song knocked Lennon-McCartney off their high horse after years of relegating him to second fiddle.”

“Yeah, but that’s just the problem. Riley’s not my—,” he cuts himself off, wincing at the notion and changing his choice of words. “Riley and I aren’t involved. Not like that. She’s my friend, and I care about her a lot, but I can’t write songs about her like that. Not for other people to see. Because—,”

“Charlie,” Farkle realizes, completing the sentence for him.

Of course, their cookie cutter front man is jamming the cogs in their music-making machine once again. Because he had the guts to pursue Riley first, and now she’s securely with him and certainly not in the market to be serenaded by their far more interesting lyricist. Charlie took advantage of being in the spotlight as he always does, and Lucas had to take the backseat as he quite literally does every time they take the stage.

In some ways, it doesn’t seem fair. But then, Farkle knows, life is rarely fair. That’s why music is so important to him in the first place, because it takes all of that hurt and pain and unfairness and turns it into something tangible. Something that can be picked apart, criticized, explored by thousands of listeners for them to relate to and enjoy.

Music has always been the escape for him no matter what problem he was running from. Now, he discovers, maybe it can be the same for Lucas, too.

“Who says you have to say who it’s about?” Farkle says thoughtfully, the possibilities already building in his brain.

Lucas locks eyes with him. “What?”

“There is no more powerful a feeling than unrequited love. You want to talk about dynamite songwriting material, you’ve got it in you in spades right now. You said you had a million songs about her you wanted to write.” He raises his eyebrows indicatively, nodding. “Well, I think it’s time for you to write them.”

“Didn’t we just talk about this? Didn’t we just agree that Charlie—,”

“Charlie is an idiot, he’s not going to know who they’re about,” Farkle says dismissively. “No one is going to know unless you tell them. But unrequited love, specifics or not, everyone can relate to that. It’s universal, and universal is key. Everyone knows how it feels to want something they can’t have.”

Lucas contemplates this, turning the idea over in his mind. They’re close to making a breakthrough, he can sense it. He may just be able to save Mad Dogs yet.

“You’re sitting on a gold mine, man. A treasure trove of songwriting material. I think it’s time for you to start digging.” Farkle gives him a nudge, attempting to lighten some of the heaviness that’s settled over them in the process of the very real conversation. “And who knows, it might just do you some good too. Might be nice to get all that emotion somewhere else rather than trapped inside you and suffocating you.”

This seems to be a particularly convincing point. Lucas sighs, scratching his ear. Fidgeting restlessly, on the cusp of what might be their next big move.

Farkle opts for a softer approach, placing a hand on his shoulder. He gives him a sympathetic look, not his most natural expression but genuine in its sentiment. “When you convinced me to join this band, it was because you pulled out a scrap of a song that said something real. That spoke to something true. Now, I think it’s time for you to speak your truth.”

Lucas meets his eyes again, hesitating. Then, he nods. Ready to try one last time, lest their band fall to pieces before it ever really begins.

And if Mad Dogs fades into obscurity before their prime, at least the two of them can say they tried.

* * *

Maya Hart learns about the mystery muse through her own observation, but to be fair, she doesn’t exactly think it’s that hard to figure out.

All it takes is one good look at Lucas any time her best friend is within five feet of him to clock that there’s definitely some chemistry at play between them. The moment she enters the room he’s like a magnet, immediately drawn to her and unable to focus on anything else until she drifts out of his orbit again. Maya thinks of him like a puppy dog, so enthralled with his lovely new toy that he can’t fathom much else when it’s brought into his presence.

Unfortunately for him, the toy isn’t his to love. It belongs to someone else, and so he just has to watch and admire from afar while the rest of the world convinces themselves that his devotion belongs to some other mysterious woman that is their God-given mission to identify.

The moment she reads the first theory that she herself is the mystery muse, she has to laugh. Mostly because she and Lucas rarely spend more than a few minutes at a time together without the full company of the rest of their respective posses, but also because the notion of dating Huckleberry sounds like just about the dullest thing she can imagine. Sure, he’s her friend and she enjoys his company in that regard. But she needs someone with a little more fire, a little more wit, and if she’s being honest she can’t think of someone he’s more perfectly suited to than her soft-hearted and sentimental best friend.

Too bad she’s unattainable. She can sympathize, because she knows the feeling of wanting something you can’t have all too well.

It’s that very understandable sentiment that makes Mad Dogs’ second album such a hit, all those lovesick anthems boosting it to the top of the charts and accented nicely with the album-ending solos from each member that truly show off their stuff. It’s a game-changing follow-up that certainly deserves the accolades, so Maya is a more than happy partygoer as she attends their album release celebration.

The party is a smash if Maya’s ever seen one—Zay certainly knows how to throw a fete, suffice to say—and she’s rather enjoying herself despite her own growing to-do list that’s nagging at the back of her mind. There’s a lot of final preparation to be done on her own second album, and much like Mad Dogs she’s navigating the tricky waters of trying to shift her image without completely sending the record label into a tizzy. But there’s so much more she wants to explore, musically and emotionally, that she can’t do within the poppy constraints of her first album.

Bold women make bold choices. That’s what Riley’s always telling her whenever she gets into a fit over the whole ordeal, and it’s what she tells herself when she feels that panic creeping up in places where she’s supposed to be enjoying herself. Where she’s allowed to forget about the unfinished album and her uncertain persona and the boy who doesn’t like her back and just be for a night.

Personally, she thinks she deserves a hundred nights like these. And as far as she can tell, she’s not alone in that feeling.

While the rest of the band is up mixing and mingling, obviously in high spirits from the success of their album, Lucas is hanging back on his own. Maya supposes this is where he gets his reserved, mysterious reputation from, watching him reside in solitude by the bar and do his best to stay hidden. Although having more than five seconds of conversation with him reveals that fan-made persona to be wholly inaccurate, from where she’s standing at that moment she can see where they draw those conclusions.

She decides if she isn’t allowed to brood for the evening, he isn’t either.

Maya dances her way through the crowd to him, already relishing in the small delight of getting to disrupt his quiet. She may not be Huckleberry’s mystery muse, but she does get a deep sense of satisfaction from how fun he is to pick on.

When she reaches him, she notices he’s got his head down because he’s scribbling on a napkin. Jotting down more song lyrics, no doubt, constantly working even when he’s not supposed to be focused on that. They did just finish an album, after all.

“Whatcha got there?” she says cheekily, approaching him and sneering at the startled look on his face when he realizes he’s being addressed.

When he recognizes it’s her, his façade becomes impressively less polite. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Charmed,” she teases. She watches as he slips the napkin into his blazer pocket, saving it for later. “Hop-a-long, this is a party. For you. The last thing you should be doing right now is working.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“You look awful. You look like someone just ran over your puppy. Or your pony, I guess. That’s the kind of pets you’d have back in Texas, right? Yeehaw.”

“I was having a lot more fun before you wandered over here,” he mutters, leaning back against the bar top and making a face.

Maya mimics the grimace, transforming it into a smirk. She hops up to sit on the counter next to him, waving off his derision. “Lighten up, cowboy. It’s a party in celebration of you and all your hard work. Dance a little. Live it up.” She flags down a waiter slipping past them, grabbing two flutes of champagne off his tray and giving a nod of thanks before handing one to her mopey friend. “Have a flute.”

Lucas takes it, but he doesn’t look particularly interested in indulging.

“It’s okay, I get it,” she says casually, taking a long sip of her drink for dramatic effect. “If I had to hang around and watch my bandmate canoodle with the girl I loved, I wouldn’t be in much of a party mood either.”

Lucas twitches like he’s been shocked, glancing in the direction of Charlie and Riley as if to check whether or not they could overhear from all the way across the room. Then he turns his glare on her, typically pleasant green eyes surprisingly capable of resentment.

“Would you keep it down?” He glances around them again, lowering his voice. “Who told you? Did Farkle tell you?”

She’s a bit surprised he assumes Farkle would rat him out so easily. Even before the mystery muse era, during her brief romantic engagement with Farkle he was always quite adamant on not blowing his bandmate’s secrets. He may not have much respect for Charlie, but he has endless respect for Lucas. Much more than he knows, evidently.

Instead of commenting on this, she rolls her eyes. “No one had to _tell_ me, Huckleberry. I may not pay that much attention to you because you know, boring, but I have a working pair of eyes.”

“Just don’t talk about it, alright?” Lucas requests, dropping his tone to a murmur. He casts another furtive glance in direction of Riley. “No one is supposed to know.”

“If that’s the case, you might want to get better at hiding your attraction. Like I said, all it took was two eyes and more than two minutes of observation to figure it out. You are so not subtle.”

Lucas glares at her, earning an amused smirk in response. As fun as it is to tease him, however, she has to empathize a little bit.

“Look, trust me, I get it,” she admits after a pause, taking another sip of her champagne. She looks towards the front of the room, where Josh Matthews is holding council with Farkle and a couple of other reviewers from the music journalism circuit. Wearing that stupid endearing beanie like usual, effortlessly cute to her absolute disdain. “I know how it feels to want what you can’t have.”

Lucas peeks at her out of the corner of his eye. It’s clear he has no idea what she’s talking about personally, and she prefers it that way. But she hopes he realizes her sympathy is genuine, that for all intents and purposes she wishes it was him over there holding Riley’s waist and whispering in her ear and smiling for the cameras. Mostly because she’s pretty certain if it was him instead of Charlie, they wouldn’t be entertaining the cameras at all.

Riley deserves someone that looks at her like she’s the whole world. Maya likes to think Charlie could be that person, but he spends far too much time looking at himself for that to be the case.

“Cheers,” Maya sighs, lifting her flute and offering him a lopsided smirk. Sharing solidarity in their unrequited woes, even if they don’t seem to find much else in common. “To being hopelessly stuck on the unattainable.”

Lucas eyes her, tossing one more look in the direction of her best friend before meeting her gaze and half-heartedly mirroring the smirk. She clinks her glass against his, the two of them celebrating their successes yet feeling pointedly like they’re missing something all the same.

It’s fascinating, how love can feel an awful lot like loneliness.

* * *

Dave discovers who the mystery muse is a little later than his bandmates, but in his defense he’s got a lot to juggle while playing guitar and arguably being the cutest of the group, and so he doesn’t spend all his time obsessively watching Lucas’s every move, so what? What’s the big deal?

Okay, so perhaps Dave is a little disappointed in himself that he didn’t figure it out sooner. He likes to think he knows Lucas pretty well, after all. He’s been his favorite bandmate since the moment he was lucky enough to join the ranks of Mad Dogs, mostly due to how he offered him half of his sandwich the first afternoon Dave showed up for practice. But also because he’s a real genuine guy, always putting others before himself, and he’s the best ally he has when the rest of their band gets heated.

The fact of the matter is, they tend to get heated a lot.

It’s all down to Charlie and Farkle, whose personalities and ambitions for the band are so starkly different Dave has trouble puzzling together how both of them ended up in the same group in the first place. As far as he understands it, Zay and Lucas recruited Farkle when they were still a two-some, supposedly with the promise of making some seriously epic tunes. Charlie was an add-on provided by the record label, matching the wannabe solo artist with a group that needed a bit more star power to get their feet off the ground. And while the combination certainly got them noticed, no one has any idea how toxic the chemical reaction is between them all when they’re stuck in the studio trying to decide where the band should go next.

It’s these moments when Dave likes Lucas best, because he can always rely on him to make him feel like the room isn’t going to implode. He wouldn’t call himself conflict avoidant, but he prefers for people to get along, and that seems to be a no-go with their front man and their musical genius. These days they can’t get fifteen minutes into a rehearsal without a fight breaking out, and whenever jabs get particularly pointed Dave habitually glances up from hiding in the chords of his guitar to search for Lucas behind the drum kit and lock eyes with him.

Lucas never says anything—he doesn’t have to. Just his subtle nod of comradery or goofy look to mock the two of them when they’re not looking in their direction helps make him feel safe, like everything is going to work out in the end. Lucas is like his older brother, and he’s always wanted an older brother. He’s super fond of the guy, so it wouldn’t surprise him if plenty of guys and gals were fond of him too.

But Lucas being romantically fond of someone back? It’s like thinking of your brother. The thought just never occurred to him.

Suddenly, though, it’s all anybody can seem to talk about. Once their second album _Game Night_ kicks off with smashing success, Lucas’s blockbuster tracks get their deserved notice and overnight it’s as though everyone has put his lyrics under a microscope to try and crack the code. Everyone is talking about the “mystery muse,” this ethereal and unattainable woman that Lucas has dedicated his entire heart and soul to even though she won’t ever love him back. It’s the biggest media whirlwind they’ve encountered as a band in their career thus far, and no one seems to know quite how to handle it. Charlie seems particularly miffed, likely because no one is talking about him.

Dave didn’t realize all those great songs meant Lucas was pining hard and probably going to die repressed. He just thought he was really good at writing lyrics.

If he were to give some advice to those fans and media junkets who seem desperate to learn their drummer’s secrets, his suggestion would be to stop looking for the answer. It’s like a watched pot, it won’t boil if you keep scrutinizing it. At least, that’s worked in his experience, because that’s exactly how he finds out the identity of the mystery muse.

He honestly didn’t mean to learn it. He was just messing around the studio while avoiding another Mad Dogs bark-off—this time between all of them except him, and this time seemingly more serious than a lot of the previous spats—and wondering if the band was going to break up.

He doesn’t want it to, he’s growing quite fond of his sweet gig with the guys. He finally feels like he’s getting the groove of his guitar expertise, even if he’s constantly stuck behind Charlie and wishes he could do some more difficult riffs.

One night of their last tour, Charlie took the show off to have a meeting with the record label. That night Dave got to play the solo on “Unofficial Thing,” and it was quite possibly the coolest evening of his entire life. After the show, Farkle told him it was the best the solo ever sounded, live or recorded.

Not that he would ever wish ill on his bandmate, but dang, what Dave wouldn’t give to get to do it again.

In any case, as Dave was milling around the studio waiting for all of them to come back from the booth and hoping they’d be done with the yelling, he didn’t mean to run into the drum kit. He didn’t mean to run into Lucas’s sacred spot and knock over all his stuff, and he absolutely worked as quickly and efficiently as possible to clean up all of his belongings and put them back exactly as he found them.

That’s when he saw the bottom of his drum sticks, where the initials _R.M._ had been absentmindedly scribbled in blue Sharpie.

The group returned before Dave had time to think about the discovery, and developments had apparently very much developed in his absence. Suddenly, everyone is (still) shouting about how Charlie is leaving the group, and their whole existence as a band is in crisis and going to change forever. Dave can hardly wrap his head around it with everyone snapping and going into panic mode from every conceivable direction.

It isn’t until about a week later when he’s hanging out back home for some time off and worrying about whether or not Mad Dogs is finished for good—and gosh, he seriously hopes it isn’t—that he puts the pieces together.

R.M. Riley Matthews.

Lucas Friar is thinking about Riley, consistently and intrinsically enough that he would permanently etch her initials into the tool that helps him create music every single night. As if when he’s holding his drum sticks, he’s holding a little piece of her.

Once he starts to consider the notion, it starts to become blaringly obvious (which is, of course, the part where he grows disappointed in himself for being so oblivious). All those times Lucas and Riley appeared to have this seemingly effortless rapport, the way she made him smile wider than anyone else just by being around and being herself. The way they were apparently so physically comfortable with one another, leaning close to look over lyric sheets or sprawling on the couch together or walking close together on the red carpet when Charlie wasn’t around to walk with his girlfriend himself. The way Lucas looked at her as if she was the single most dazzling person in the entire world despite being objectively pretty ordinary—and come to think of it, Lucas does seem to always be looking in her direction.

So there it is. Lucas Friar has a mystery muse, and for those in the know her name is Riley Matthews. Lucas Friar is in love with Riley Matthews.

Damn.

But with the realization comes the understanding as to why Lucas elected to keep it a secret in the first place. Riley already seems reluctant to step too far into the spotlight as it is, and admitting your feelings for someone so publicly after so blatantly writing them down so the world can sing along definitely sounds way too embarrassing to stomach. Not to mention the Charlie of it all—he and Riley may have just broken up just in time for his announcement of a solo career, but Dave can smell a media scandal a mile away and if word got out that this entire time, their unassuming drummer was severely pining after their front man’s main squeeze—?

Double damn. If news like that got out, Dave isn’t sure any of them would survive long enough to keep the band going.

So despite how stunning the revelation feels, Dave doesn’t tell anyone. Not the band, not his best friend Jade, not even Lucas. If he’s intent to keep it under lock and key then Dave is going to do his part, paying his favorite bandmate back for all the sanity and security and friendship he’s provided him since the moment he entered the studio as an official member of the group. He just hopes that it’s what’s best for everyone involved. He hopes that no one gets hurt, at the end of the day.

At the end of the day, Dave doesn’t want to lose Mad Dogs. And with everything so up in the air, he just wants his friend to be okay. Mystery muse or not.

* * *

Riley Matthews doesn’t know who the mystery muse is, and if she’s being completely honest it’s sort of driving her crazy.

It’s not that she cares about who it is in theory. She doesn’t. If she really cared all that much, she would go up to Lucas and she would ask him outright. They’re good friends, best friends really, so if she _really_ wanted to know she could certainly find out. She’s just respecting his choice to keep it private. That’s all. That’s all it is.

But then, if he’s choosing to publicly publish such beautiful songs for all the world to hear, then she doesn’t see why he couldn’t privately confide to her who these beautiful songs are about. As a good friend. Best friend.

And God, those songs. Riley is certain she’s listened to them a thousand times over in the last couple of months. She never doubted the boys when they claimed this second album was going to be big, but they completely outsold all of her expectations. It’s so much closer to what she thinks they could be doing, showing off their skills from musicianship to performance to aesthetics. It’s a more comprehensive experience of the band and who they are as as individuals and a group than listeners have ever heard before, and she cannot wait to see what they do next.

There’s so much talent and so much potential left in them she doesn’t see how this could possibly be the last stop.

Yet, Charlie seemed to think otherwise. When he declared that he was leaving Mad Dogs and going solo the world erupted into chaos around them, as if she wasn’t already reeling enough from their break up a couple weeks earlier.

She’s past the mourning phase at this point and is well settled into the period post-break up where she’s wondering what she was thinking wasting months on a relationship that never exactly satisfied her anyway, and the reality that Charlie was never the fulfilling boyfriend she envisioned he would be haunts her in a way that begs for a distraction. That’s partially why she gets so absorbed in the mystery muse search, just because it gives her something else to obsess over other than how she could be so foolish and waste so much time on something that she knew was never going to last.

And boy, are people obsessing. There are forums, threads, whole blogs dedicated to picking apart who the mystery muse might be. Fans have always been nosy, that’s certainly true, but they’ve taken to this Mad Dogs challenge with a fury and have posited dozens of potential pop divas that Lucas could be so heavily infatuated with. More than a few have determined that it has to be her best friend, Maya and Lucas fan pages popping up all over the internet with dedicated fervor.

She tries to avoid those as much as possible. They bother her more than she’d like to admit, and to be honest she doesn’t see how Lucas could be crushing so overwhelmingly on Maya without her noticing. She spends so much with him, she knows she’d recognize that relationship if it were sparking.

That’s what is so frustrating about the whole situation, she realizes. That she feels like she and Lucas are tight-knit, that they have this amazing connection they’ve shared basically since the day they met, and yet she has no idea who his potential partner could be. He’s never, ever mentioned any feelings for well, anybody, and it stings that he’d keep something so important from her. Particularly when the emotions are evidently so very prominent in his daily life.

Whoever she is, Riley hopes she knows how lucky she is. Anybody would be lucky to have Lucas as a boyfriend. He’s so incredibly sweet, thoughtful and kind and considerate. She can’t think of how many times he’s had just the right thing to say, or known the exact moments to say nothing at all and simply be there for her. He’s funny in this subtle and underappreciated way, and she feels like she’s constantly smiling in his presence.

That’s to say nothing of _his_ smile. He’s certainly endearing, effortlessly charming and strikingly attractive. This is no secret, of course, as a majority of Mad Dogs fans can agree his soft green eyes are to die for (their words, not hers). But when you factor in the lovely complexion, and the understated sense of style, and those broad shoulders that are surprisingly comfortable if you’re looking for a place to rest your head…

Case in point, her good friend is a total catch. Whichever girl out there is fortunate enough to have won his heart is in for an amazing, rewarding, fulfilling relationship. She knows that without even seeing it for herself. And gosh, is she happy for him.

She just wishes he told her. She wishes she knew.

If only she knew.


End file.
